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Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Droogan
McPhee is the son of a wealthy entrepreneur who owns several liquor
stores throughout Connecticut and Massachusetts. His step-mother is
roughly Droogan's same age. Together they plot to kill his wealthy
father for the inheritance money, until Droogan shoots his step-mother
instead by mistake. What follows is an odyssey along the New York
Thruway, as the police will stop everything to make sure that the
fleeing Droogan is captured and brought to justice.

Harvey Havel is a freelance writer
and novelist. His first novel, Noble McCloud, A Novel, was published in November of
1999. His second novel, The Imam, A Novel, was published in 2000.

In 2006, Havel
published his third novel, Freedom of Association. He has just published his eighth novel, Charlie Zero’s
Last-Ditch Attempt,
and his ninth, The Orphan of Mecca, which has just been released. His new novel, The Thruway Killers is his latest work.

He is formerly a writing instructor
at Bergen Community
College in Paramus,
New Jersey. He also taught writing at the College of St. Rose. Currently, he teaches literature at the
University of Albany (SUNY).

If you can’t buy one of his books
here, copies of his books and short stories, both new and used, may be
purchased at www.barnesandnoble.com, www.amazon.com, and by special
order at other fine bookstores.

Monday, May 30, 2016

This week's theme was to pick books that are perfect for beach/summer reading. I grew up on the coast, and Mariela isn't too terribly far from a really nice beach area herself, so we definitely have a good beach book or two that we can recommend :)

I am going to be honest, I don't remember a whole heck of a lot about this book. I do remember it was a lot of fun, and I enjoyed it a lot. Enough that I bought the sequel in hardcover as soon as it came out, something I NEVER do for romance novels. Of course, that was well over a decade ago. There is one scene that comes to mind, that involves the heroine getting shot at on the beach and her running away serpentine-style and getting teased about it by the hero.

This one is probably a little more action-packed than a beach read would warrant. But it does happen in an amazing beautiful cove, with lots of boats and beaches, so I am gonna say it works.

This one has lots of action and shooting, plus it tosses in some magic in there! But Sea Haven is a gorgeous place to read about, perfect for the beach!

While this book doesn't have anything to do with the beach, the lead girl is an Olympic diver, so there is some water involved. Mostly, this book just evokes a strong sense of summer and is a pretty great romance! It was actually my very first straight-up romance!

This one doesn't have anything at all to do with summer, the beach or water. BUT! Meg Cabot is an amazingly hilarious writer, so anything by her is perfect for taking along on a carefree day on the beach!

I read this one when I went to the beach and it was the perfect read while laying by the sea! I super loved this series!

Summary from Goodreads:A
desperate act, an explosive secret, and a diabolical enemy—all part
of a treacherous game, with no limits.Overachieving
good girl Abbie Cooper has her future all planned out. As senior year
at her elite private school kicks off, she has one simple goal: get
into the Ivy League. But at St. Matthews Academy, nothing is ever
simple. The pressure is overwhelming, the secrets are dirty, and the
games are wicked. Abbie has a dirty secret—one that could destroy
her chances of getting admitted into Princeton, and the lives of
those closest to her. One
morning, she discovers a note in her locker with the warning, “I
know what you did”. Then a photo arrives in the mail. It captures
her most shameful deed—the shocking blunder she can never erase, in
glorious detail. Someone is out to ruin her, but who and why? The
answer lies with the sender of the photo, a mysterious girl known
only as The Avenger. For a price, she assures Abbie her secret will
remain safe. There’s only one problem: The Avenger may not exist at
all. If Abbie doesn’t uncover her true identity before acceptance
decisions are made, it’s game over…

I pull
into Shoppers World off Route 9 in Framingham. I score a parking spot
close to the cluster of stores that include Starbucks, Old Navy, and
Taylor Books, the place of the drop. I text the girls to let them
know I’ve arrived at the bookstore. They tell me they’re hanging
out at a fast food joint on Route 30, a five-minute drive from me. I
take a visual sweep of my surroundings, looking for anyone
suspicious. My hands are clammy. I wipe them on my dark jeans,
several times.

At 9:15
p.m., I take a deep breath, calm my nerves, and exit the car with the
big brown paper bag with the handles and a plain, black scarf on top.
I walk at a steady pace, careful not to appear nervous or in a hurry.
I enter the store, and I’m greeted by the smell of new books and an
extensive display of fiction bestsellers. Customers are scattered in
every section of the store. I mentally remind myself not to let my
eyes wander. Look straight ahead. The cameras are embedded in the
ceiling.

I stroll
past the eReader Center, toys, games, and the teen section. I stop in
the diet and nutrition aisle and pretend to browse.

“Can I
help you find something?” I feel my leg muscles tightening, my body
ready to make a run for it but I don’t. A store employee is
assessing me with a forced smile. She is an older lady, perhaps in
her fifties with glasses perched on her nose, and barely-there lips.

“No,
ma’am. Just comparing these diet books.”

The woman
backs up a little and presses her glasses further down her nose. She
takes a good look at me. I mentally scold myself. The diet section?
Really?

“It’s
for a friend,” I explain.

She
raises an eyebrow.

“You
know what, she can come look at the books herself. I’ll probably
get yelled at for picking the wrong one, anyway.”

Another
fake smile.

“Excuse
me.” I ease past the skeptic. I can feel her eyes on me as I head
to the back of the store, my heart hammering in my chest. I must be
giving off that nervous vibe. There was no reason for her to be
suspicious of me. I look back to see if she’s still staring at me.
She is. I have to drop the money before she calls store security. I’m
on her radar. Soon, she will start following me around the shop.

What if
someone already moved the decoy bag? What if people witness the
exchange? It’s now or never. I glance backward again. Ms. Skeptical
has her head down, looking at some paperwork in the customer service
center. I duck into the next aisle and ease my way to the opening
where the newsstand and magazines are. Two people are browsing
through the magazines, their backs to me.

Decision
time. Do I swap the bags while their backs are turned or wait until
they leave? The risk in that strategy is that more customers might
show up in the area, increasing the odds that one of them may take
the bag to the front of the store and explain to the staff that
someone forgot it.

My body
is suddenly freezing. My hands are shaking so badly I’m afraid I’ll
drop the bag. One of the browsers turns around. Her eyes land on me,
then the bag on the bench. “Is this your bag?”

“Um…yeah.
My friend is in the ladies’ room, and she sent me over to get it.”

“Okay.”

She won’t
leave. She just stands there, waiting for me to make a move.

“Are
you going to pick up your friend’s bag or just stare at it?”

I want to
yell at her and tell her that it’s none of her freaking business.
Instead, I take tentative steps toward the bench with the bag
identical to the one growing heavier by the second in my hand. I pick
up the decoy bag loaded with empty shoe boxes and the same black
scarf on top. I turn around and take a slow, tense walk down the
aisle of biographies. I stop in the middle, drop both bags on the
floor, and pretend to browse again.

Painful
seconds tick by. She’s still here. The other customer browsing the
section has left. The store will close soon. My plan is to wait out
Ms. Nosy. Another minute goes by. I can’t stand it. I’m sweating
profusely. I want to take off the baseball cap, but I can’t. I walk
casually to the end of the aisle and take a book off the shelf. I
scan through the pages, unable to absorb any of the content. I then
peek around the corner. She’s gone.

I
exchange the bags and duck back to the biography aisle, careful to
keep my head down, and then slowly backtrack through the store. The
double doors are only a few feet away from me. I’m moments from a
clean getaway when I hear someone call out.

“Miss,
Miss, you forgot something.”

That’s
it. They’re going to haul me off to jail. They’re going to call
the cops if they opened the bag and saw the money. If I make a run
for it, it makes me look guilty, and they’ll definitely call the
police. My only chance of walking away unscathed is to turn around
slowly. Damn it. Miss Nosy again.

“Yes?”
I say, my voice as sweet as honey.

“You
forgot this,” she says, holding up the scarf. “You dropped it on
the way out.”

What did
she do, follow me and pick up the scarf the minute it dropped? I
remind myself to look at the positive side of things. She thinks it
belongs to the empty shoebox bag I’m carrying.

“Thank
you.”

I take
the scarf from her and rocket out of the store. I don’t stop until
I reach my car. I jump inside, dump the bag on the passenger seat and
burn rubber out of the parking lot. Once I’m safely on Route 9, and
certain no one is following me, I pull my phone out of my jacket
pocket. I give a voice command to call Frances.

I let her
know the drop was made.

“I have
an idea,” she says.

“What?”

“Callie
and I should drive to the store to see if anyone walks out with the
bag.”

“Whoa.
That wasn’t part of the plan. I don’t want you guys caught in the
middle of this. She could be dangerous. She could have another
accomplice. There are too many unknowns, Frances. It's a good idea
but too risky.”

“Okay.
We’ll meet you at the house then.”

I know
she’ll go against my advice. I don’t have the energy to argue
further.

I make a
second call, to Ty, and I leave him a message.

***

“We got
there too late,” Frances says. “It was ten minutes before closing
when we got to the store, and mostly employees were still around. The
bag was gone.”

“She
must have been watching me from somewhere,” I say.

Callie
concurs.

We’re
on the sofa in my bedroom, recounting the evening’s events. I’m
relieved that the drop was made, but this story is far from over.

“It has
to be somebody familiar with this area,” Frances says. “What if
she was in the store the whole time?”

Goosebumps
appear on my arms, and I shudder. I think back to the store employee
who looked at me with suspicion, and the woman who chased me to
return the scarf I dropped.

“What’s
wrong, Abbie? Callie asks.

I tell
them about the two ladies at the store. The only problem is I don’t
know either one of them. The store employee was older. Sidney hates
anyone over thirty. The younger lady, the one who just happened to be
at the spot where I was supposed to make the exchange, seemed to be
just a customer. But was she?

“That
is odd,” Frances says.

“The
younger lady could have been there to pick up the cash. Which means,
The Avenger was afraid I would recognize her face.”

“Which
brings us back to Sidney,” Frances says.

“Right.”

My cell
phone rings, putting an end to our supposition. I scurry off the sofa
and grab the phone off the bed. It’s better to stand when I answer.
I don’t say a word when I accept the call.

“You’re
competent after all,” she says, her tone scornful. “I knew this
game would be fun.”

“You
got what you wanted. Now it’s your turn to hold up your end of the
deal. You know what I want from you.”

“I’m
not ready to quit this game, not when things are just starting to
heat up.”

“What
are you talking about?”

“Your
next assignment.”

“We had
a deal,” I shriek, anger rising like bile in my throat. “You
promised the photo in exchange for the money. I followed your
instructions. Now, it’s time to step up. Are you going to add
‘filthy liar’ to your list of crimes, too? Extortion is a crime.
You do know that, right?”

“Did
you really think I would make it that easy?” she asks. “This was
only a test. You passed. Congratulations.”

“You
can’t do this.” My voice gets louder as my panic mounts. I pace
the room. The girls follow the conversation from the sofa, disbelief
in their eyes.

“Why should you get away with it? How is that fair?”

I have to
get through to her, somehow. “So you want to even the score? Who
made you the moral police? Without me propping up your extortion
scheme, you have nothing, you hear me. Nothing. You know what, send
the picture to the Easter Bunny or whomever. I don’t care. I’ll
survive the fallout. I’m that desperate to get rid of you.”

I hang up
on her, and then make my way to the bed where I collapse.

Frances
and Callie join me, looking as if they have grave concerns about my
mental state.

“I’m
sorry, Abbie. Are you okay?” Frances asks. “Why did you do that?”

“Do
what?”

“Hang
up on her. Now, you’re in for it. You don’t know what she’s
going to do next.”

About
the AuthorGledé
Browne Kabongo writes intense psychological thrillers—unflinching
tales of deception, secrecy, danger and family. She is the Amazon
Bestselling Author of Game of Fear, Mark of Deceit (Eye of Fear
Anthology), Swan Deception, and Conspiracy of Silence. Her love
affair with books began as a young girl growing up in the Caribbean,
where her town library overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. She was trading
books and discussing them with neighbors before Book Clubs became
popular.

She holds both an M.S. and B.A. in
communications, and worked as a freelance news reporter right out of
college. After she abandoned the dream of winning the Pulitzer Prize
as a reporter for the Boston Globe, she jumped into marketing
management for over a decade. Gledé lives in Massachusetts with her
husband and two sons.

Friday, May 27, 2016

The
city lights blind your amazement. The sound of the traffic challenges you to be
alive. Families ask bystanders to make magic and capture the moment with
photographs. Newly engaged couples seal their union by kissing under shooting
stars while loving by crossing their hearts.

But
if your heart was under arrest, wouldn't you want to embrace something to feel
like others?

Go
insider the world of one courageous sheep as she discovers that her heart was
under attack by darkness. As she travels on a spiritual journey to
understanding her purpose, overcoming the undertones of low confidence,
self-acceptance, and the importance of inspiration, she rose against the odds
with forgiveness and strengthening her faith.

Your past does not define your future.

In the dark, we do not have shadows.

In the light, we do.

Even me.

Even you.

Even sheep.

It is time out for hiding the scars and pain.

It is time out for disguising when we need help.

It is time to stand up and embrace yourself.

Regardless of violence.

Regardless of opinions.

Regardless of loneliness.

Regardless of beauty.

You are who you are.

Your future is what you want it to be.

You have a shadow. You have an identity.

Even black sheep have shadows.

God’s sheep are only black because society locks us in a room with the light off.

What’s going to make you determined

to turn the light on?

Here is my story.

Ashley Terrell is
the founder of Stella Bistro Foods and Black Sheep Inc. Terrell is the host and
co-director of Cooking with Stella (2016).
She resides on the East Coast where she enjoys blissful sunsets and
sounds of ocean waves.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Summary from
Goodreads:Getting
on the cheerleading squad is hard enough without a psycho on the
loose...For
Harrow High freshman Dakota Densford, life should be easy. All she
has to worry about is talking to cute boys and remembering her locker
combination. But when cheerleading tryouts draw near, she learns the
cards are stacked against her—spots on the varsity team are
limited. Dakota faces her competition head-on, but when her life is
threatened, that takes the competition to a whole new level.High
school is never easy, and freshman year is off to a rough
start…Between
Dakota’s uniform being ripped up and masked vandals trashing
another girl’s house, everyone is suspect. To complicate matters
further, Dakota has a thing for Andy McGraw, but she finds him
locking lips with another girl.The
harassment continues, and when Dakota finds suspicious flyers inside
her best friend’s locker, she doesn’t know what to think. The
principal’s unfeeling, overachiever daughter, Brittani Barlow, will
do anything to secure her place on the team. But Dakota’s neighbor,
on the other hand, definitely fits the profile of a
sociopath.Cheerleading
has become a game of life or death.

Besides
my family, my greatest love in life is books. Reading them, writing
them, holding them, smelling them…well, you get the idea. I've
always loved to read and never considered myself a "writer"
until a few years ago when I couldn't find a book to read and decided
to try writing my own story. With a background in psychology, I've
always been a little obsessed with the darker areas of the mind and
social problems so I try to channel all of that into my writing.
I'm the author of the Flocksdale Files trilogy, the Horror High
series, Grayson's Ridge, and This Is Not About Love. I reside in
Floyds Knobs, Indiana with my husband, children, and massive
collection of books.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

ABOUT THE BOOKS:VERSIONS – August 2016Base Branch 7
The truth doesn’t have versions. Or does it?

Rin Lee covered her childhood in dirt and danced on its grave. Only she pranced a little too hard and spent her young-adult life tiptoeing the straight and narrow. Things finally paid off in the form of a job with the Department of Defense, a home of her own, and a boyfriend muscled enough he put Zach Efron to shame. Until one text reveals a hideous truth that splinters her world.
Suddenly she can’t trust Nate or their surrogate family of friends. Can she possibly trust Luck—the man who mirrors her soul, scares her beyond the neat confines she’s erected around herself, and makes her scrutinize the versions she’s always been too angry to see?
Luck turned to the streets out of necessity, while Rin slapped on blinders and ignored those willing to help her. A stupid move for a sultry young woman. But the skills she learned in the rough and tumble underbelly of DC will serve his latest assignment well. Because people like them have the instinct to survive.

VIRTUES – September 2016Base Branch 8

Once they’re gone, can you ever get them back?
As a CIA spy turned traitor to her country, Cara Lee kissed her virtues goodbye long ago. After seventeen years, her retribution ended with the burial of her enemy and a fresh start with her daughter. If only she could forgive herself enough to rebuild their relationship.
Luck—her daughter’s fiancé—wasn’t Cara’s only attempt at atonement. She took Marina Sorensen off a Swedish street corner and schooled her in the art of survival. Too bad the girl sold her and Luck out to the thugs of Brödraskapet.
Her disciplined nature prods Cara to tie the loose end—one way or the other. But the commander of the UN’s special forces has other plans. The last thing she wants is another government job. Given an ultimatum—and a babysitter—she plays along.
Tyler Grace should have been a farmer in east Texas, but the universe had other plans. A tactical expert for the Base Branch, when he finds a problem, he seeks the best way to fix it. Cara presents an obstacle he’s ill prepared to conquer—but he’ll die trying.
Struggling to sort through her past, Cara clings to the one virtue she has left, while Tyler dares to prove she never lost them.

VARIATIONS – October 2016Base Branch 9

Decisions split paths. Bad decisions compound and suddenly you are no more than variations of yourself.

Author Bio:
USA Today bestselling author Megan Mitcham was born and raised among the live oaks and shrimp boats of the Mississippi Gulf Coast, where her enormous family still calls home. She attended college at the University of Southern Mississippi where she received a bachelor's degree in curriculum, instruction, and special education. For several years Megan worked as a teacher in Mississippi. She married and moved to South Carolina and worked for an international non-profit organization as an instructor and co-director.
In 2009 Megan fell in love with books. Until then, books had been a source for research or the topic of tests. But one day she read Mercy by Julie Garwood. And Oh Mercy, she was hooked!
Megan lives in Southern Arkansas where she pens sizzling suspense novels. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest & Goodreads. For news, giveaways, and exclusive offers sign up for her newsletter at www.meganmitcham.com!

Monday, May 23, 2016

Scorpio's
Kiss is a spell-binding tale of love, ambition and greed that will keep the
reader turning the pages until its surprise ending. Set in New York and Paris amid the glamorous and competitive worlds of art and real
estate, Scorpio's Kiss takes the reader from the late 1940s to the 1960s
through the tumultuous lives of its heroes.

There is
Alex Ivanov, the son of a Russian immigrant and part-time prostitute. He yearns
to escape his sordid life and achieve fame and fortune. His dreams of becoming
a world-class builder are met with countless obstacles, yet he perseveres in
the hope of someday receiving the recognition he craves.

Half a
world away, Brigitte Dartois is an abused teenager who runs into the arms of a
benefactor with an agenda all his own. When she finds out that her boss has an
ulterior motive, she flees again, determined to earn her living through her
art. This career brings her fame, but also the unwanted attention of her early
abuser.

Domovitch’s novel is a compelling
tale, filled with finely etched characters and a superb understanding of the
power of ambition. Scorpio's Kiss promises to resonate with all who once had a
dream.

For More Information

The days were getting shorter. The boy looked up
in surprise at the sky, which had suddenly grown dark. He pulled his worn
sweater tight against the October chill, blew warm breath into his cupped hands
and hurried on. The newspaper bag strung across his shoulders was almost empty.
He no longer had to put it down at every street corner to massage his sore
back. He was almost home.

Alexander Ivanov lived at the end of the world.
To the twelve-year-old, that was exactly what Brooklyn was;
the end of the world. Maybe because the one time he had been to the city, what
he called Manhattan, it had taken forever on the subway.

Alex
hated living in Brooklyn, and never more so than when his mother talked about her
youth in Leningrad with tears running down her face. She would revert to
Russian, which he didn’t understand, but the passion in her eyes spoke more
volubly of the beauty of her old country than words could convey.

Every day on his way back from school, weighed
down by the load of newspapers, he passed the same dusty old stores, their
signs barely legible from the peeling paint; the same ratty tenement buildings
in which people suffocated in the summer and shivered in the winter; the same
old women in their ritual wigs and shapeless dresses, vacant and blank
expressions of hopelessness etched on their faces. Hopeless, that was how he
sometimes felt; and then he would remember Manhattan and feel better. If there was one thing Alex wished for,
it was to live in Manhattan. He yearned for Manhattan the way his mother pined for her old country.

Alex walked along Main Street, where pickles marinated in barrels, salamis swung from
hooks, and sausages dried in their cotton bags. He was oblivious to the sights
and smells around him. One by one, he took the papers from his bag, and with a
quick, experienced motion, he threw them. His aim was almost perfect.

Tomorrow was collection day. He would stop at
each house along his route and wait while his clients went to get their money.
After making change, he would thank each one of them politely even though most
never bothered to leave him a tip. His work would take him more than twice as
long as on normal delivery days. Still, he looked forward to it. Collection day
was when he could go home, count out his profits and decide how much of the
money he could save. This week, if all went well, he might reach the
fifty-dollar mark in his bank account. Fifty dollars! It was a fortune.

He reached into his bag, pulled out the last
newspaper and aimed it with unerring precision at the Kodesky’s front porch. At
that moment the door swung open and old man Kodesky stepped out. The paper flew
through the air like a projectile and landed with a thud in the startled man’s
well-padded stomach.

“Hey, you no-good little piece of shit!” He
waved his fist. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Alex did not hear a
word. He was a million miles away, dreaming of the day he would escape the hell
of living at the end of the world.

Even now, two years later, he could still
remember every detail of his trip to Manhattan. After a long subway ride, he’d emerged in the city
surrounded by skyscrapers so tall, he could only see the top by looking up high
and leaning back. People on the street rushed about in the lightly falling
snow, pushing and jostling each other, their arms full of brightly wrapped
packages. It was one week before Christmas and there was a dizzying feeling of
joy in the air. Alex had been almost drunk from the excitement. This must be
what Leningrad was like.

Deep in his dreams of unlimited delights, he
walked home. Three blocks later, Alex climbed the stairs to the dingy
one-bedroom apartment where he and his mother lived.

Before he was born, his mother had tried to make
the apartment look warm and inviting. She hung pretty paper on the walls and
crisp curtains over the windows. The furniture was inexpensive but attractive
and functional. Whatever nesting instinct had once inspired Marlena Ivanov’s
efforts had long disappeared. For the past twelve years she had done nothing
more to improve her home. Indeed, she had not done even the most basic of
repairs. Over time, the wallpaper had become worn and faded. The curtains lost
their freshness and the once attractive furniture became old and shabby. The
sour stench of poverty clung to the apartment like old dirt.

Alex closed the door behind him and dropped his
canvas bag on the floor. He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. From the
kitchen came the smell of boiled cabbage.

“Is dat you Alexander? Vere ver you? Is nearly six o’clock and dinner is been ready for hour,” his mother’s heavily
accented voice called out from the bathroom. “I getting ready to go out. You
vill ave to eat alone.”

Through
the thin door came the sound of the toilet flushing. A moment later Marlena
appeared wearing a tight pink sweater set and a black satin skirt. Her dark
hair was freshly coifed, the marks of the bobby pins still imprinted between
each wave. Her mouth was painted crimson in the shape Joan Crawford had made
popular a decade earlier. From ten feet away the smell of vodka on her breath
was overpowering.

“Will you be coming home by yourself?” asked the
boy suspiciously.

“Vat you vant me to do?” She picked up her purse
abruptly and threw in her lipstick. “You vant to eat. I not do dis for me. A
boy need food to grow big, strong. Someday you understand.” A moment later, she
was gone.

Marlena Ivanov was a bitter woman. She made no
secret of the fact that raising a boy by herself was a heavy cross to carry,
one she deeply resented. Alex sometimes thought his mother hated him almost as
much as she did his father. He had never seen his father. He knew, only because
his mother repeatedly told him, that Pavel Ivanov had been a gambler and a
womanizer. Whatever wages the man had earned, he just as quickly spent on those
two vices. The day Alex was born was the day Pavel Ivanov decided that married
life was not for him. He disappeared, leaving his seventeen-year-old wife to
deal with the struggles of working and raising a son by herself.

After a dinner of cabbage soup, Alex turned off
the lights and climbed under his blankets. In the dark, he could clearly see
his mother’s empty bed a few feet from his own. He turned his back to it and
curled up.

Hours later, the muffled sound of laughter woke
him up. The bedroom door swung open and the light turned on.

“Turn dat off. You vake up boy,” his mother
ordered in a shrill whisper. The light flicked off. “Das better. I like dark.”
She laughed. “Now, come to Marlena.” Clothes rustled. From his cot, in the
corner of the room, Alex guessed every gesture, every movement. Old springs
creaked. The sounds were loud, magnified by the stillness of the night.

Alex covered his ears. By trying hard, maybe he
could keep the noises from reaching him. It was too late. The guilty stirring
in his loins had already begun. His mind swirled in a mix of emotions too
strong for him to understand. Maybe if he thought of something else. Someday
I’ll drive in from the city in a brand new Cadillac. I’ll show them all…

The next morning, Marlena kissed the man goodbye
and turned triumphantly to Alex. “See dis?” She pulled out a ten-dollar bill
from between her breasts. “Dis can buy food for whole week.”

Alex looked away, embarrassed and ashamed, and
returned to the picture he was drawing on the back of his spelling book.

ENTER TO WIN!

Monique
Domovitch has had many careers, starting with being one of Canada’s top models. When she retired from modeling she moved on
to a career in the financial services as an adviser and planner, specializing
in helping women attain financial freedom. During those years, she was also one
of the first women in Canada to host her own national financial television show. During
all those years, Monique’s dream was always to someday become a writer. Ten
years ago, Monique attended a writer’s conference where the first line of one
of her novels was read out loud in a workshop, attracting the attention of a
publisher and an agent.

Since
that life-changing conference, Monique Domovitch has published nine books, four
with Penguin using the pen name Carol Ann Martin, two with Harlequin using her
own name, and another two with Lansen Publishing. Scorpio’s
Kiss was previously published as two novels, Scorpio Rising and The
Sting of the Scorpio. Scar Tissue, her latest, is her ninth novel
and she is hard at work on her tenth.

A great believer in the energizing
power of writers’ conferences, she says that if not for that first conference
she attended, she would not be published today.